


Make Me Feel Like I'm Someone

by seerstella



Category: Cold Case
Genre: M/M, PWP, Post-Canon, implicit sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seerstella/pseuds/seerstella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe you, too, were the lucky one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Feel Like I'm Someone

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Make Me Feel Like I’m Someone  
> Authoress: Seer M. Anno  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Cold Case and the characters. I only own the story.  
> Pairing: Jimmy/Coop  
> Summary: Maybe you, too, were the lucky one.  
> Genre: PWP, AU.  
> Warning: implicit sex  
> A/N: Something I’ve been writing in the train since last month, finally finished. Title’s taken from IMN’s song Something Real, from the film Possession of Michael King (look up who played the main guy so you can know the connection *winkwink*). First time writing something like this, hope you enjoy!

He might be brave and idealistic and fearless, but he could be bashful too. He stared at you with that weird look in his eyes as he lied down on the bed, and at first you were confused. You swore you could see blush coloring his cheeks and that was what struck you. He never blushed, and he would kill you in a nick of time if you dared to tease him about it.

But you were bashful as well, you had to admit.

You asked him what you should be doing, and that was when he burst into peals of laughter. That was one voice you always loved. You were neither a poet nor a sappy romantic fool, but he had a laugh that worth a thousand stars. He rarely laughed, and every time he did you cherished it like a treasure.

You knew that you'd just ruined the moment, so you withdrew. You sat back on your heels, staring at him, _marveling the beauty that was your partner_.

He eyed you as if you'd lost your mind, and he called for you, _coaxed_ you to get out from your absurd assumption. He challenged you, calling you a coward, but this time you didn't budge. You, who had an emotional range of a teaspoon in front of him!

It was obvious that he changed his tactics. He shrugged off of his half-opened shirt and sat up, facing you. With a soft tone you almost never heard from him, he asked you if you were afraid.

That question brought up memories, but you tried your best to ignore them.

You couldn't really tell him, though. You only gave him a smile and leaned down to kiss him. Let him think you'd regained your senses or something. He responded harshly, with fiery passion, as always.

He was like fire that burned your insides, making you run as strong, as _fast_ as you could. You loved and feared him because of that. His smirk and his twinkling eyes were the reason why you were here now, kneeling amidst the white sheets, staring at him.

His hand touched your face; _was touching_ your face. His hand wasn't smooth at all, and you could imagine how he gripped the weapon, punching the bad guys, busting shins...

"What's going on?"

His voice was unbelievably soft as he repeated his question. You could feel him unbuttoning your shirt, and it only took seconds for it to fall to the floor, joining the rest of the clothes belonged to both of you. He pulled you down, and you obeyed, because you never did this before, because he was the experienced one. He was the expert and you were the naive, scared one.

Much to your shock, he let you do all the work. He grinned at you as he withdrew and lied down, purposefully seducing you. And you, just like the first time you saw him, fell for it.

You gently touched him, feeling the taut muscle beneath your hand. That made you smile; patrolling surely had become a good way to work out. You deliberately avoided touching the scars, feeling that could stop you completely from... from what you were doing right now. He breathed deeply and it somehow gave you more courage.

You whispered his name, not knowing how on earth your voice could turn that breathy. He smiled, and you saw shyness in that, something you'd never seen in him. Your protective instinct kicked in, making you want to hug him and never let him go.

He knew. He knew that when he whispered something about being lucky because you were there with him, protecting him. You wanted to step back and ask him why that was, especially after what had happened. But then he slowly opened himself to you, shattering your resolve completely.

He was fit but thin at the same time. You sometimes saw his legs when you draped him the blankets when he slept on the couch in your family room. As you slid your hands down his legs, you silently compared them to yours, thinking that being older had worn you down.

You settled between his open legs and cradled his face. You felt stubbles grazing your hands and that made you smile. He looked better with stubbles. He looked better with stubbles and messy brown hair like that; making him look like a maverick he was supposed to be.

And you loved him for that.

You felt his hands wandering down your body, and you let him. It was like your kiss in the backyard, the time when you could never forget the way his hands on your back. However, it was your turn to take care of him right now.

He told you to stop being afraid, now that you were with him. He repeated it again and again. It was his third 'don't be afraid' that you managed to prepare him. You stilled at that, your two fingers were still inside him, looking at his face to search for anger or disgust or something similar.

You knew you were dumb for doing so, because you found none of them. Instead, he smiled that brilliant smile of his, as if he knew why you stopped.

"Don't be afraid. We're the lucky ones, remember?"

You did remember. So you continued even though your hands were trembling and sweaty and you didn't really know what you were doing.

But he let you. He let you prepare him until he grasped your hand and told you he was ready. You doubted him, just because you thought you hadn't done enough.

But he didn't give you any time to speak as he pushed you on top of him, a smirk crossing his face. He told you to do it, and to do it now because he just couldn't hold it in.

So you did.

You still thought you were going too fast, too rough, but he kept panting and told you to continue, so you did. You asked him under your breath if you hurt him, but he just shook his head and stared at you.

That was when you saw it.

That utter bliss.

You'd never seen that look before, and now you were sure that you wouldn't hurt him.

You didn't know what happened next, for you'd reached your bliss as well. All of it became a total blur and the one that remained was his brown eyes, shining in total adoration.

You heard him calling your name, but it was more like a whisper because you saw the stars right there and you couldn't care of anything else but him and your love for him.

You fell on top of him, and the uneasiness came back, telling your mind that you were hurting him because you were still inside him even after you both were done. That made you pull out of him as fast as you could, and as you sat up, he looked at you. You hated that baffled look; you wanted _so bad_ to change it back to that contentment gaze like before.

He asked you what was going on. When you didn't answer, he grasped your hand and tugged it slowly, almost childlike. He repeated the lucky ones words, and even though you wanted to believe him, you couldn't.

You didn't believe him, yet you slept with him. You dominated him. Hell, you had put your cock in his ass!

Yet he felt that you two are the lucky ones. You couldn't get him sometimes; he was just too exasperating. You bit your lip and slowly surrendered as you lied back down on the bed. He was facing you now, dancing his fingers on your upper arm.

"It's a miracle," he whispered in a thoughtful tone, and you wanted to hit him because that sounded so girly and you couldn't stand it. But you didn't. You smiled at him instead, your mind playing the images of him in that damned patrol car, bloody. 

_Dying_.

You always thought that was the end of him, and you feared that all you had done just now was a figment of your wild imagination, and now you were lying alone on the couch because your kids used your bed in their monthly visit. You could feel tears clouding your eyes but you closed them and kissed him to mask the sadness and regret and relief inside you.

He survived, because he was The Great Sean Cooper, and you were given a second chance. You, the meek and coward Jimmy Bruno, didn't deserve it, but you took the chance anyway. You stroked his now messy brown hair, slick with sweat, wondering why he was still here, showering you with his bravery and love.

Maybe you, too, were the lucky one.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon has come true. :D  
> Hope you enjoyed your read!


End file.
